Reciprocity…

    I recently enjoyed a personal triumph of sorts. After spending the last ten months in site wrangling and finagling with the people of my site and the staff of Peace Corps I finally pushed a very important project through the bureaucracy that is the federal government. Somehow we managed to retain the essence of my community's dreams while satisfying the requirements of the Peace Corps Partnership Program.

    This program allows the people of communities in which American volunteers serve to share their dreams with Americans. The exchange is that the proud people of our sites admit publicly to the world that we can't do it alone. We recognize that we are part of something larger than ourselves, and that we cannot accomplish great things without everyone's participation. We recognize that, while we may be building sustainability, exchanging cultures, and knowledge, the one thing we are doing above all else is building relationships. These are relationships built on trust, compassion, and faith in the basic goodness of all people. Sometimes these relationships are also built out of brick and mortar.

    The amazing people in my site have shared their lives with me, an outsider. They have welcomed me with open arms, and they have done all this with the belief that I will repay their kindness with my knowledge, skills, and my connections to resources they couldn't access on their own. They believe, perhaps correctly, that I can enrich their lives if they let me.

    It's not easy for them to do this. This is a very hospital culture, but not one that has been gently used by history. Countless cultures have come knocking on their doorstep looking to take their land, their identity, and their livelihood. I've heard people in this country accuse the Amazigh, the people I live with, of racism. I've heard them ridiculed as backwards, closed, and obstinate people. It is said that they are unwilling to change, unwilling to advance themselves, and unwilling to cooperate for the betterment of their country. I am here to tell you this is not true. A family, whose average level of education is somewhere around 5^th grade, welcomed me into their home. They opened their house to me, a stranger, a non-believer, and (maybe most dubious of all) a young unmarried man.

    I feel honored by their trust, and yours. I represent you all, whether you like it or not, to the people of Morocco and more specifically to the people in my site. I am trying to make their experience of Americans a good one, and they are trying to show me who they truly are in the same way. It's a tentative exchange sometimes, but mostly it's been good. Day by day we have worked with and for each other. I've learned their language and they've learned to accept my strange habits. I've listened to their hopes and dreams, and they've listened to me try to frame a way they could make them a reality. I trusted them, and they've trusted me.

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=378-118

 

    The URL above is where you will find the project my association and I have poured blood, sweat, and tears into for the last ten months. This URL represents our faith in you; my friends, family, and readers. We are asking you, in these difficult economic times, to look into your pocket to see if you can't spare a little change. I told my community that the people of America are generous, despite what it says on the news. I told them that if I am willing to give two years of my life to them, surely you would give them some of the money they need to ensure a better future for their children. I told them that my people will help them if they ask with open hearts. I told them that if they are open to you, strangers, outsiders, and non-believers, then you will be open to their need.

    I wouldn't ask you, my readers, for your help if we didn't actually need it. You can trust me on that. Today I am asking you, please, to prove that I was telling the truth. Read over the proposal that I have written at the behest of the people who have taken me in. If it seems like a worthy project to you, then give a little bit of what you have to my Moroccan friends and family. We are counting on you to help us make this dream a reality. I believe that this project is worth whatever you have to contribute. If you agree with me tell your friends and family. Spread the word and the URL. We would really appreciate it. Thank you for your generosity, believe me when I say that I few dollars will be building more than irrigation canals. It will build friendships with people who deserve it, and who, if you should find yourself in the neighborhood, will gladly give what they have back to you. Once again, I thank you in advance for whatever you have to give.

Happy birthday kiddo…

    Twenty two years ago on December the 18^th a minor miracle occurred. This miracle was slimy and kind of weird, and it was really loud. Unlike most miracles of this kind this miracle was blue, which was a cause of some concern to those who witnessed it. This miracle, like most miracles, was the culmination of a lot of disparate events and a lot of time and effort. This miracle was duly noted and registered and then it was named Leslie. This miracle is my little sister.

    At the time of this post her birthday will have passed, and unfortunately I will have been unable to contact her to wish her a happy birthday. However, what I can do is write a tribute to her on this here blog and hope that she reads it, with the help of a facebook message, someday. So here it is, my little sister Leslie:

 

    When she was a kid we called Leslie the fireball, or the princess (my Dad called her queeny), and so she was. All throughout her childhood she had this attitude that could be accurately described as regal. She made moves too. Every minute of every day she was up to something, making something, playing, and, all too often, thinking of ways to get me in trouble. She succeeded more often than not. She was a cute kid.

    In Middle School Leslie pursued a few different passions. One of my favorite short lived passions was her soft ball kick. One summer she decided that she needed to get good at softball so she could tryout the next school year and kick some ass. So almost every day she would hassle me and hassle me and hassle me until I agreed to help her out. We would go out into the front yard and play catch and she would practice pitching to me and I would hit the balls softly so she could field them. Then one day I hit one hard, a line drive right to her kneecap. She collapsed to the ground and said some things about me that I won't put on this blog, but we got her inside and gave her some ice and ibuprofen for the swelling and the pain. Then, what do you know, the very next day she gimped her little self out into the front yard and made me play catch with her so she wouldn't fall behind in her training.

    Leslie loved our trampoline as a kid and she would use it to play out in the backyard with her friends as they practiced their round-offs, back handsprings, and front flips. She was pretty good at gymnastics, but she got tired of cheerleading pretty fast. This whole time she thought I was just some weird dude she had to live with and occasionally ask for rides to school. However, it might surprise her to note that despite our constant fighting and competition over which of us was the smartest (she's really freaking smart too) I was proud of the young woman she was becoming.

    You see my sister, like me in some respect, has very little tolerance for BS. She cares deeply for her friends, and boyfriends, but when they act like idiots, hurt her/themselves/each other, or generally show little regard for her she cries her tears and moves on. I remember that when she was young and dating middle school dudes she seemed to go through them like socks. I understand now that she simply had too much self respect and taste to put up with their silliness.

Just about the time I moved on to college and Asheville, she moved on to high school. I know that the first couple of years were tough for her because of me. You see, the last two years I attended Orange High School I had bright blue hair, and I was a well known (and I like to think well liked) personality in the halls. My teachers and coaches, many of whom my little sister had too, remembered me and called my poor sister "little blue" (I was big blue) because of it. She hated being little blue. She wanted to be her own person.

Soon enough she was. She was infuriating the same teachers I had by cutting up in class and making straight A's, she was driving my cross country/track coach crazy by making it clear she didn't feel like working hard to maximize the talent she had. That's another thing about my little sister and I; I was the one that worked really hard to be good at sports and never quite made it. She was the one with all the talent who didn't work all that hard, but started varsity anyway. She helped start and maintain the women's tennis team and was something of a tennis star. I was secretly jealous.

When it came time for her to choose a University she bucked all of us (except perhaps my step-Dad). I wanted her to go to a super liberal tiny little hippy school like I did. My mom wanted her to go to a great school, but I suspect she leans towards the small liberal artsy end of things like me. My father had a secret dream that she would end up going to Duke, his alma mater. She chose Duke's arch enemy the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. That's where my step-Dad went, and I think that he got a kick out of that, but she made it quite clear to all of us that she was going there because that's where she wanted to go. Sure enough, she's thrived there.

Initially she was shooting for an accounting degree of some sort, but she got bored with that and is now going for pre-Med. That's the way my sister is. She's driven, disciplined, and she shoots for the moon. She doesn't brag or show off that much, but she knows she's got skills and she uses them to get what she wants. She's not interested in what others want for her she goes after what she wants. She doesn't shy away from speaking her mind, and cutting loose when she wants to.

So, from about 4,000 miles away, in a completely different world it seems, here's to my little sister. Here's to the fireball, the princess, the queeny herself, and the soon to be UNC graduate. Leslie, you're a total bad-ass and you know it girl. You take what you want without being a jerk. You're smart, talented, compassionate, fun, and beautiful. You're going to have a great life full of wonderful friends and wonderful experiences, and no one can stop you. You demand respect from all of us, and you get it. I can't tell you how much it kills me to miss your birthday (again), but know this, kiddo, I'm thinking of you and I'm proud to call myself your brother. So from Leslie's brother to the world… Sit up! Pay attention! Help out or get out of the way! She's coming at you! She's awesome, she's smart, and she's unstoppable! She's my little sister and now she's 22! Go get 'em Leslie!